


Dreaming Of A White Christmas

by popmart (tambsi)



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas in New York, M/M, Mentions of Smut, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28288518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tambsi/pseuds/popmart
Summary: He looks across the booth he’s seated at in this dingy breakfast place, ignoring the kitschy table tile and peeling teal booth plastic to lay eyes on John, who’s still here. In New York. With him. At Christmas.[*Secret Santa Gift!Fic for Pink_and_Velvet*]
Relationships: Simon Le Bon/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Dreaming Of A White Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pink_and_Velvet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/gifts).



> Was part of a small Duran Secret Santa fic gift exchange with some friends of mine over on Tumblr, and I was assigned Tash, who wanted some Christmas JoSi. I certainly hope this delivers. I haven’t edited this bar some cursory spellchecks as I went along. I didn’t have an exact date imagined for this one, but assume it’s during the early 80s. 
> 
> Hope you all have a very merry Christmas, Kwanzaa, belated Hanukkah, or whatever holidays you happen to celebrate! :)

Christmas in a new location never got old, in Simon’s mind. Yes, he did prefer spending the holidays with his family back home, but this year it simply wasn’t possible. He’d delayed getting a flight back, and now the snow left him adrift in New York, without a chance of getting back to England until after Christmas. 

So, spending Christmas in New York would be just fine with him, as much as he’d wanted to be with his loved ones.

Well. 

He looks across the booth he’s seated at in this dingy breakfast place, ignoring the kitschy table tile and peeling teal booth plastic to lay eyes on John, who’s still here. In New York. With him. At Christmas. 

The other man was too busy digging into his meal of pancakes and bacon to notice that he was being stared at, humming to the Bing Crosby song that was playing off the jukebox in between bites. 

Simon thinks over how the both of them hadn’t been quite...friendly with each other in the preceding weeks, arguing and just generally being shitheads to one another with no clear reason in view. But he wasn’t quite sure what it was earlier that morning when he’d woken up in their shared hotel room, but things felt different. More free, in a sense. 

John had been awake, sitting up on the other side of the bed and quietly watching some holiday special Simon hadn’t recognized on the TV. Simon felt a pulling need right then and there to just...to just go up and _kiss_ him. He hadn’t done that in quite some time. 

But in that moment, he’d shaken off the grogginess, proceeding to sit up in his tangle of hotel sheets and pull John in for a chaste enough kiss on the cheek. 

A guff but warm “Good morning.” Escaping his lips as he pulled back to watch John’s blushing astonished face. 

He should’ve expected John’s hands cupping his chin, pulling him quickly back towards him, as well as the very deep, full on kiss that followed. 

They’d stayed in the bed for a while after that, slowly kissing each other in more places than just their faces and lips while the TV continued on. It’d been so long since they’d been able to share a slow morning like this Christmas Eve, and they would savor it for as long as they could.

The languid, no-strings feelings didn’t leave after that. Not even when they finally escaped the bed, slipping on clothes and trench coats to venture out onto the chilly, snowy NYC streets. 

Not even when John ever so boldly looped his arm around Simon’s back, keeping him close as they traversed the still busy streets. It was a miracle they weren’t recognized and confronted by a fan or two. Or maybe they did and they somehow managed to ignore it. Simon didn’t quite care on this day. 

Now here they were, in this All Day Breakfast establishment, sitting across each other in a booth that had seen better days, eating a hot breakfast that settled nicely in their stomachs as their ankles intertwined underneath the table. 

John finally looks up from his food, and upon seeing him smiles one of his fond, _authentic_ smiles. It reaches his eyes and wrinkles his face just so, and it only serves to get Simon smiling back. 

Simon puts his fork down then, placing it in the middle of his scrambled eggs before moving to put his hand on top of John’s, which was wrapped around his glass of orange juice. 

Andy Williams’ “White Christmas” begins to play as John lets go of the glass, gripping Simon’s hand securely in his, swaying it ever so slowly to the song. 

Simon glades out of the window they’re sat next to, seeing that the world was in an array of reds, greens, greys, and ultimately _white_. He turns back to John and catches just in time, him mouthing _“may all your Christmases, be white.”_

It certainly was building up to be a white Christmas. 

******************

The rest of the day had passed rather uneventfully; they’d walked from the breakfast place to Central Park, and taken in the sights together as relative still morning turned to blinding white afternoon. Lunch was spent eating street vender food with a couple of unsuspecting fans who’d found them, John remarking that he would probably never understand how the city would always be so active even on the eve of _Christmas_. The girls and Simon equally had to laugh at him for the remarks, but it was all in good fun regardless. 

Once they’d managed to appease and shake off the girls, they made their way through a few shops, not really buying anything right then, but the promises of future purchases in the upcoming new year being made. 

The afternoon turned to a hastily darkening evening as the two of them started to make their way back to their hotel, the desperate want to get cozy _together_ driving their walk. 

It didn’t stop Simon from joining in with some street corner carol singers, much to the strangers’ excitement once they realized who had decided to briefly join them. John had hung back, swaying along to the carols as a smile and a chilly red spotted on his cheeks, and a gentle snow fell around them all. 

They did eventually return to the hotel, grateful to be back in a place that was truly warm. They shrugged off their coats as they boarded the elevator, and that was when Simon realized there was a sprig of mistletoe hanging above them. _A brilliant plan laid by hotel staff, surely._ There was just enough time for a brief kiss which left them both breathless before the elevator doors opened for their floor. 

Upon entering their room, John grabbed for Simon, holding him close the moment the door closed and putting his mouth back on his. 

Simon was completely fine with this move, and hungrily kissed back, unaware of the slow turn dance they made as they advanced to the bed. Of course he noticed as they finally fell into bed, still unmade from the morning, laughing as John pinned him against the sheets. 

There were certainly few things better than hot sex to warm a man back up after spending the day roaming the Big Apple, as Simon was quick to learn as he allowed John to take the reins on this night. 

Here they were now, post orgasm, sheets and limbs tangled around each other as they caught their breath. Simon half on top of John, slowly running his fingers through his sparse chest hairs as the younger man panted hotly into his mussed up hair. 

“Charlie...you know I love you, right?” John lets out, confession coming out in a whispered breath. 

“I do know that, Johnny.” Simon replies softly, looking up into his brown eyes for a moment before leaning to kiss his jawbone. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” 

_.end._

**Author's Note:**

> If you’d like to come chat with me about Duran Duran or about my fics in general, my tumblr is niterunner.


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